


Late Night Spaces

by mozzarellastyx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, KInda sad i guess, Longing, M/M, OT4, Right Now AU, Solo Artist Zayn, basically Zayn misses everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:17:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4491549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozzarellastyx/pseuds/mozzarellastyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Lights go down and I hear you calling to me...</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>(Or where Zayn's on tour and he misses his boys, especially Liam.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! finally a ziam fic lol. big thanks to [Pa](http://www.tvventies.tumblr.com/) for giving me the motivation to finish/post! this is based off the song Right Now, set during Zayn's first solo tour. you'll probs be able to find some lyrics mixed in there. enjoy!!

The lights go down and Zayn can hear his name being chanted as he’s lowered into the depths of the stage. A stage hand grabs his arm and leads him off the platform in the dark. Zayn stumbles blindly, tugging out his ear pieces so he can hear the backstage world that surrounds him.

“This way, Zayn,” his manager, Charlie, informs, taking over the duty of tugging him away from the screaming crowd.

“I need a cig,” Zayn mumbles, trying to shimmy out of Charlie’s grasp.

“We’ve got to get some business done, dude,” Charlie insists, tightening the grip on his arm.

“I need a cig,” Zayn repeats, words stronger now and blunter.

Zayn's not a diva, was never one back in his group days, either. None of them were, really. He’ll go with the flow for pretty much anything. But he's gotten a total of about nine hours of sleep the past four nights, and he really, really just needs a smoke.

His manager lets out a reluctant sigh. “Five minutes. I'm sending Olly out with you.”

Zayn gives a curt nod, scuffing his toe on the smooth concrete of the dimly lit backstage hallway. He follows Charlie down the length of the hall to a metal door, which lets him exit to the side of the stadium. His bodyguard, Olly, follows, a big wall of muscle and scowl behind Zayn as he steps into the chilly night.

He leans against the whitewashed brick wall, letting his head hit the hard surface with a thud. The stars barely twinkle above him, clouded out from all the light pollution of the city. It's sad, really. He remembers the stars back in Bradford, how he used to climb out of his window to lay on the roof and gaze, feeling so small and insignificant. The only other place he remembers so many stars is somewhere in the middle of the United States. They'd stopped for petrol one night after a concert. As they were leaving the station, bags of sour gummy worms and Red Bulls hanging from their wrists, Liam pointed up to the sky. Away from the city, in the middle of miles and miles of farmland, the stars were magnificent. Almost as magnificent as the smile on Liam’s face while watching them.

Zayn lets out an irritated huff at the memory, patting his pockets for a desperately-needed fag. They're empty. Fucking of course. His manager doesn't let him bring them onstage, swears Zayn will light one during a performance. Zayn's been tempted a few times, but lucky for Charlie the cig’s never been there.

“Shit,” Zayn mutters. God, he aches for the nicotine to fill his veins, keep the fluttery feeling going so he doesn't crash from his performance-based adrenaline rush just yet. He can't let his body and his mind both hit a low. He can't survive that now. Alone.

He turns to head back inside, his break pointless if he's just going to breathe fresh air. Olly’s holding up a pack of Marlboro’s and the purple Bic lighter he’d purchased at a petrol station one desperate evening. Honest, he doesn't know what he'd do without Olly. He doesn't say much, and Zayn thinks Olly is a rather goofy name for a 2 meter, 120 kilogram man, but out of his whole crew, he knows Zayn the best. A lot of times, whether it be during a smoke break or just when his manager is off scheduling things and blabbing on the phone, it's just them. Not a lot is spoken, but they both sit in comfortable silence. Olly always seems to know what Zayn needs without him having to say anything.

Zayn gives him a nod of thanks, taking the pack and lighter. He pops it open and offers one to Olly, who raises a hand to silently refuse, before sliding one out for himself. It feels familiar in his mouth, even before it's lit, and just that comforts him at least a little. He brings shaky hands up to cup the end and flick the lighter, sparking a few times before finally lighting. It's still the adrenaline that's making him quake. Or the cold. Not anything else, though.

The first inhale brings instant relief, and he doesn't let it out for quite some time. When he does, the smoke curls in front of his face, dancing in the light evening breeze. Even the smell relaxes him, releases some tension in his shoulders. He takes another slow drag, savoring the flavor before exhaling through his nose, watching the smoke exit as it would a dragon.

The chanting is a low hum at first, but soon enough Zayn can clearly make out the lyrics of his latest single, being sung to him by fans leaving the arena. It's so crazy, and a fresh wave of goosebumps erupts under his denim jacket. Six years in the business and he still isn't used to it. Especially doing it alone.

His cigarette burns out much too quickly. As he's about to light his second one, the metal door opens. Charlie, talking on the phone to someone or another, waves him inside. Zayn sighs before stamping out his fag with a heavy boot. Olly holds the door open as Zayn slips back into the building.

“That dressing room,” his manager directs, covering the phone’s microphone and nodding towards the door.

Zayn shuffles into the room, running a hand through his hair. His hairdresser follows him in and hands Zayn his phone. He's no Lou, but Felix reminds Zayn of Harry for some reason. Must be the curly hair. That might've been part of the reason why they clicked instantly. He's one of the most trusted members of his crew, besides Olly, and Zayn's really glad that Felix is around.

“Long day?” Felix chuckles as Zayn falls down on one of the couches, not even glancing at his phone for notifications.

“Every day is long,” Zayn laughs humorlessly.

“I know,” Felix sighs, sitting down next to him. “But you love it.”

“I do,” Zayn agrees tiredly. Because he really does love it. It's just…nights like these, it's hard to remember why he even left. Sometimes he needs Felix there to remind him why he's doing this in the first place.

“You want to change?” Felix asks him, nodding at his denim jacket and tight jeans.

Zayn shrugs, sinking lower into the couch and trying not to think about anything.

Felix raises his eyebrows in question, but Zayn just shakes his head. Felix gives him a look that reminds him so much of Harry, the kind that see right through you, but doesn't press the matter. Zayn lets his eyes flutter close, tries to keep his mind off the phone that’s sitting on his thigh. He doesn’t want to know if he received a reply. Either it was negative or he hasn’t gotten one at all, and he really doesn’t like either option. He prefers to live in ignorant bliss. Or, rather, just ignorance.

He’s just really stupid, is all, and on top of being depressed now he’s rather embarrassed. Why did he even think Liam would come to his show? Liam’s only got a few days off before he, too, hits the road again. Surely he wouldn’t want to drive two hours to stand with a bunch of screaming girls and watch his best friend, the one that left him to follow his own selfish dream, perform. Zayn’s embarrassed that he even sent Liam the pathetic invitation. It’s just-

He misses them. He misses his four boys and it's hard to think, when he's low like this, that he doesn't have to be doing this by himself. He could've had his four best mates along with him, cheering him up and bringing him back down to earth when his mind went a little too far into the galaxy.

Right now, all of this is new to him. This whole solo thing- it’s much different than he expected. He enjoys the freedom, yes. Being able to make his own decisions, collaborating with other artists, doing things his way, it’s all nice. But he never thought he would be this lonely. He loves his privacy, sure. He’s always been a rather remote guy. But having lived with four other boys for nearly five years, spending almost every waking moment with them, it’s a big adjustment to a solitary career. Almost two years into it and he still doesn’t know how to handle things.

The nights are the hardest. While the rest of his crew tries to get a few hours of shut eye between packed days, Zayn is awake, tossing and turning in the back of the tour bus. It’s easiest to feel alone when the lights are down and it seems as though the rest of the world is asleep while Zayn lays awake, overthinking everything because there’s no one there to distract him.

It’s all still so new, so much different than the career he had with his four best mates.

But it's not like that anymore. He chose this path. He's a solo artist, and although he has a fantastic team, he's not close enough with any of them for them to be able to help him. No one can distract him like Louis. No one can make him laugh like Niall. No one can listen like Harry. And no one- well, no one will ever replace Liam.

God, he needs Liam so bad. He needed him two weeks ago when he had a bad spat with the paps while leaving a grocery, he needed him the week after when he had to attend a charity event alone, he needed him last weekend at the Brits when he had to stumble through an acceptance speech all by himself. He really needed him just a few nights ago, when he was lying on the bed in the back of the tour bus and hitting a record low, when he was desperate enough to shoot Liam a lame invitation to his Manchester show. And he really needs him now, reliving all of that. Just being around him would lift Zayn’s spirit. Liam was always right by Zayn's side, smiling and sensitive and the warmest thing Zayn has ever known to exist. Liam was his sun. Still is, really. It’s just Zayn's been living in the night for too long.

He doesn't remember the last time he had an actual conversation with Liam, doesn't want to think harder about it because the distance makes him sick to his stomach. They didn't mean to grow apart, it just gradually…happened. They were both extremely busy with their own careers, and their paths weren't in sync anymore. Zayn wasn't with Liam one hundred percent of the time, and it was hard to keep up. Zayn tried, he really did, but days would become weeks and after a while just talking to Liam on the phone made his heart hurt too much so he stopped calling.

He shifts a bit on the couch, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. His post-show adrenaline is all run dry, and the nicotine high is wearing off at a rapid pace. He feels himself physically sink lower and lower, and it would be in his best interest to just sleep. But he can't. He can't stop the aching in his chest long enough to lose consciousness, even though that's all he wants right now.

He just really wishes Liam had come. He wanted to see Liam’s smiling face in the crowd, front and center. He wanted to sing to him, sing the songs that he's written about him right to his beautiful face. He wanted to see him after the show, run offstage and right into his arms for a hug that would fill all of the cracks that have been forming lately. He wanted to bring Liam on his tour bus, cuddle up on the bed in the back so Zayn could finally get a good night of rest.

Right now, he still aches for this want, a dull throb in his hollow chest. He used to get like this on the road sometimes, missing his family. But back then, he had four boys to fill the holes. Now he just had a mostly empty dressing room and more holes in his heart.

Fuck this. Fuck this feeling, fuck the space between them, fuck the fact that they're only like thirty kilometers apart and it feels like thirty thousand. He needs Liam. He needs him right now more than ever.

“Do you want something to eat?” Felix wonders softly after a few minutes of silence, snapping Zayn out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Nah, I’m okay,” Zayn mumbles, blinking his eyes open to see Felix’s concerned gaze bearing down on him. “‘ve just had a smoke.”

Felix purses his lips in a maternal fashion. “That’s not a meal, Zayn.”

“I’ll grab something when we’re on the bus,” Zayn shrugs, crossing his arms tighter.

The doors burst open, suddenly, awaking Zayn from his drowsy, melancholy state. In hustles his manager and the rest of his team, all busy with different types of electronic devices and giant cups of coffee. Charlie takes a seat across from him, typing away on a Blackberry and frowning. Zayn hates doing this business shit, especially right after a show. He’s already wiped, both physically and emotionally, and he really just wants to get on the road and at least try to get some sleep.

“It’s Sunday,” Charlie reminds him after seeing the scowl on Zayn’s face. “You know we have to go through your schedule for the week.”

“You look quite knackered, mate,” Phillip mentions with a wry grin, sitting onto the arm of the couch right next to Zayn. Phillip is as close to Louis as Zayn could find, and though no one could replace the wit of the one and only Louis Tomlinson, Phillip can at least compete. He’s Charlie’s assistant, so he’s off running errands too often for Zayn to see him a lot, but his presence does help cheer Zayn up a bit.

“Phillip, another coffee,” Charlie mentions, looking down at the Blackberry and holding out what Zayn assumes is a now empty coffee cup.

Phillip rolls his eyes and exchanges a look with Zayn that makes Zayn’s lips quirk up a little before sliding off the arm reluctantly and leaving to fetch more brew.

“Show tomorrow in Sheffield,” Charlie begins, reading off of the Blackberry. “You have a press release for your new single on Wednesday, so I want to get you on some radio shows all next week. Be prepared to have to actually listen to the horrible drabble of radio. I’ll try to get you on BBC Radio1, but even I’m not cruel enough to make you do a show with Grimshaw, so I’ll try to schedule you with that James fellow. There’s a meet and greet before your show on Thursday, not after, so you’ll need to be ready earlier than usual. Cecile, do try to cover the bags under his eyes this time. He’ll scare the children. We’ll also need you to tweet a few times about the new single. The fans can tell when it’s us. Questions?”

Zayn shakes his head silently, staring at the industrial carpeting under his boots. He’s actually rather excited about his new single; he had a large hand in the writing of it. It’s all of the promoting that he doesn’t care for. It seems so…artificial. Music is bigger than the profit it makes, and sometimes he feels his team misses the point.

“Great,” Charlie claps, standing up. “Olly will escort you to the bus. Felix, if I remember correctly, you still have a station to clean up. Let’s move, team! We need to be in Sheffield by at least two.”

With that, Charlie marches out of the room, the rest of the team following behind. Felix exhales and stands up slowly. He offers a hand to Zayn, who gladly takes it and moves to his feet as well.

“I’ll see you on the bus,” Felix tells him, patting Zayn on the back with a large hand. “Maybe play some FIFA or somethin’.”

Zayn nods and watches as Felix slouches out of the room, hand running through his curly hair. The it's just him and Olly, who's got his hands behind his back and is staring straight ahead. Zayn lets out a long exhale and starts towards the door, feeling Olly follow close behind as he exits.

His boots thud against the smooth concrete floor as he heads for the large door at the end of the hallway. Various stage hands and other crew members still scurry about, packing up last minute things before they hit the road. The fluorescent lights flicker above him and Olly as they make their way to the door.

The sky is black when he steps outside, only a few light poles illuminating the dark car park. He's itching for another smoke, but he knows Charlie will kill him if he holds up the bus. He doesn't really want to get on, though. Doesn't want to be greeted by another sleepless night.

“Zayn!”

His brain doesn't really know what to do with the noise besides turn his body around to find the source. When he does, his insides erupt in flutters and kicks and spread a warm feeling of relief through his veins better than any cigarette he's ever smoked.

Liam’s jogging towards him in the dark car park, Timberland’s hitting the pavement with heavy slaps. Zayn stands frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare as Liam gets closer. He thinks for a moment it's a trick of the light. He's exhausted and it's dark out, maybe his brain is making things up to try and placate his writhing conscious.

But no. Liam is quite real as he stands before Zayn, chest rising and falling at a quicker pace after his jog. He's wrapped in a grey hoodie and those slouchy jeans he wears really low. Zayn can't even breathe.

“Liam,” he squeaks out.

“You look surprised to see me,” Liam chuckles, a bit of question in his eye. “Didn't you get my text?”

Zayn shakes his head slowly, just staring at Liam. _Liam_. He's really here. “Haven't checked my phone today.”

“Oh,” Liam nods. “I guess you probably didn't see me from stage, either. I was way on the right wing. You were amazing, by the way. Bloody fantas-”

He's cut off by two arms squeezing him tightly around the waist. Zayn buries his face in Liam’s neck, holding himself against him as to still the sobs that threaten to escape his body. He's here. It's Liam. He's so real underneath him, so sturdy and warm and he smells exactly as Zayn remembers.

“Hey,” Liam says softly, wrapping one arm around Zayn's waist and leaving the other hand free to cradle the back of Zayn's head, fingers raking through his hair gently. “What's wrong?”

Zayn shakes his head against Liam's skin, taking deep breaths to compose himself. He pulls back to look up at Liam's concerned gaze, brown eyes nearly melting Zayn.

“It's just good to see you,” he answers, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

“It's good to see you, too, Zayn,” Liam tells him, and just his voice alone almost brings Zayn to tears. “You were brilliant up there, by the way. I didn't doubt you would be, of course, but you really put on a show.”

Zayn lets out a little chuckle. “Thanks, Liam.”

“It is a bit weird, watching you up there by yourself,” Liam adds. “But I think you made the right decision. You seem so much more…you, if that makes sense.”

Zayn nods, watching as Liam’s tongue swipes out to wet his lower lip. “It does.”

Liam rubs circles into Zayn’s back, studying him quietly. Zayn looks down, staring at Liam’s chest. It's kind of weird, seeing Liam after all this time apart. But at the same time, it's not. It's natural, the way they fit together, the way Liam's voice and laugh and smile light Zayn up inside.

“Thanks for making it out,” Zayn mumbles, still staring at the strings hanging from Liam's hoodie.

“Thanks for the invite,” Liam grins. “I have to admit I was a bit surprised when I got it, but I wouldn't have missed it for anything.”

Zayn realizes now he's stupid for thinking that Liam might not show up. It's Liam, for Christ’s sake. He's more loyal than a fucking golden retriever.

“We’re pulling away in two minutes,” Charlie says, passing them on the way to the bus with a brisk walk. “Whether you're on the bus or not. I’d suggest being on it!”

Liam blinks, watching Zayn's manager climb into the other bus, team scurrying in behind. “Who's that?”

“My manager,” Zayn grumbles, rubbing his face.

“Oh,” Liam says with a nod. He looks back down at Zayn. “I better head off, then. Thanks again for the tic-”

“Don't go,” Zayn blurts, gripping Liam's wrist.

“But you're about to leave,” Liam reminds, brow furrowing in confusion that always remind Zayn of a puppy cocking its head.

“Come with me,” Zayn says. “On the bus. I'll have someone drop you off later. Just- come.”

Liam frowns. “I dunno Zayn…”

“Please,” Zayn pleads, watching Liam’s dark eyes stare at him in deliberation.

Liam seems to notice that something’s off because he starts nodding slowly, still a bit confused but agreeing to Zayn's plea.

“Yeah, okay,” Liam says, words drawn out.

Zayn's body floods with relief and he can't help but smile. Liam’s hand slips into his, and he nods for Zayn to lead him to the bus, eyebrows aloft in expectation. Zayn squeezes Liam’s fingers and pulls him along. His hands are as soft as Zayn remembers.

Felix is already on the bus when they step on, doors closing behind them. He looks up from his phone, eyes starting on Zayn, shifting over to Liam, and landing on Zayn again.

“Liam, this is my hair stylist, Felix,” Zayn starts, leading Liam over to the couch across from Felix. They sit thigh to thigh, hands still entwined. “He's my Lou. Felix, this is m- this is Liam.”

“I know who Liam Payne is, Zayn,” Felix grins. “Don't be daft. I live on your bus, not under a rock. Liam, it's a pleasure.” He extends a hand, which Liam shakes heartily. “I've heard a lot about you.”

Liam smiles, eyes going crinkly. “Good things, I hope.”

Felix shrugs. “Those tabloids can get pretty nasty.” His casual expression morphs into a grin as Liam lets out a laugh, and now Felix is looking rather smug.

The bus lurches forward, and they're on the road. Zayn's still kind of reeling, still can't believe that Liam's sitting next to him right now. Feels a bit like a dream, a fantasy he's been having recently.

“Do I get a grand tour of the tour bus?” Liam wonders, looking over at Zayn.

“Oh, uh, sure,” he stumbles, allowing Liam to pull him up off the couch. “Um, this is, like, the living room, I guess. Xbox up there with the telly.”

He leads him farther down, bus shaking underneath their feet. Zayn holds onto the counter for balance.

“This is the kitchen, I guess you could call it,” he continues. “Loo is over there. Some bunks through here. Pretty standard bus. Like the ones we used to- uh, yeah.”

Liam nods as Zayn spews out choppy sentences. In his defense, it's hard to speak when he's finally seeing Liam in the flesh after all this time aching for him. He's way out of it.

“And a room in the back?” Liam ponders.

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes with a nod. “That's where I sleep. Try to, anyway.”

“Can I check it out?” He wonders, thumb brushing over the back of Zayn's hand absently.

“’Course,” Zayn nods, letting Liam lead him back there.

He unlatches the little door and holds it open for Zayn, who slips into the room. It's tiny, basically just a queen-sized bed with a few closets on the back wall, but it's the closest thing Zayn has to a bedroom. Liam takes a seat on the bed, folding his hands in his lap and looking around. Zayn doesn't know what to do other than stand their like a dolt.

Liam nudges the door closed with his shoe. It latches quietly. The only sounds are the rumbling of the bus and passing traffic and a little dinging noise from when the tiny metal chain hits the base of the ceiling fan. Zayn sits down next to Liam, thighs touching once again.

“It's so weird you're here,” he murmurs, biting at his bottom lip.

“It's weird to be here,” Liam adds.

“I sent you that email in desperation,” Zayn admits with a little laugh. “I didn't even imagine you'd actually come.”

Liam nudges him softly. “I told you I wouldn't miss it.”

Zayn smiles a little at that, staring at the dark carpeting.

“What's wrong, Zayn?”

He can feel Liam’s gaze, warm and concerned, without even having to look up, which he doesn't. He keeps his eyes trained on the carpet, afraid of what might happen if he lets himself see Liam’s face.

“What do you mean?” He feigns ignorance.

“Zayn,” Liam sighs. “Just tell me, yeah? You can trust me with anything. Even after all this time, okay? I'm still one of your best mates. At least, you're still one of mine.”

Zayn's heart twinges a little at that. The thought of Liam questioning his place in Zayn's life hurts. Liam's always at the top, even still. He always will be there, too.

Liam’s hand finds the small of Zayn's back, and the intimate gesture is all Zayn needs to let go.

“It's just- I don't know what's going on right now,” he starts, voice quiet. Liam leans in a little to hear him. “It's so- it's so bloody weird doing all of this by myself. It didn't seem like it at first, you know, recording and stuff was fine. But now, being on tour, it's…well, you know it was always, like, taxing for me. That's why I had to take a break in the first place. It's just- it's hard. It's all new, and I don't have you four with me and I'm still not used to being alone. And I know this is, like, stupid and all because I chose this, I chose this path for myself. But I- I wish you were here with me, like a lot of the time. That's why I sent you that ticket. I was just so low. Every night, I feel it. You know, like when you're missing home or your family when you're on tour? You have those nights where you just ache for the comfort that your family brings. That's me. But I ache for your comfort. I lay back here trying to sleep, wishing you were here because I swear Liam you're the only person who knows how to make me feel better no matter what the issue.”

“I thought you were happy, Zayn,” Liam says, voice soft and sincere. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“This is what I want, Liam,” he sighs, screwing up his face in frustration, mostly at himself. “It is. It's just hard. I don't know what the hell I’m doing most of the time. I'm not charismatic enough like you or Harry to entertain a whole crowd like that. I'm shit in interviews. You guys would handle all of the questions, and now I have to answer each one. I'm tired as fuck, too, because I can't sleep. I'm more homesick than I ever was on tour with you. I thought this would be easy, thought it would be just like before but just one instead of five. But it's hard as fuck. I didn't know it was this hard because I relied on you lot for everything. I don't have anyone to rely on now, Liam, except for myself. And I'm in way over my head.”

“Hey,” Liam hushes, brushing Zayn's cheek with his free hand. “You're not in over your head, babe. I saw you on stage tonight. You were bloody brilliant. You had everyone in the audience watching your every move, alright? I saw it. And you're not alone. You've got all of these people on your team. Felix seems like a cool lad, yeah? And you've got my number in your phone. You just need to call, okay? Just call.”

Zayn lets out a breath, leaning his head on Liam's firm shoulder. “I miss you more than I thought I would. I miss all of you.”

“Then miss us,” Liam says. “Call us or text us or write us bloody letter, I don't care. Just because you left doesn't mean all ties are cut. We’re brothers for life, alright?”

“You're busy, though,” Zayn frowns. “And I'm busy.”

“I wasn't too busy to come to your show,” Liam reminds. “We’ve both got crazy schedules, I know. But your crew is here for you when we can't be, okay? You have to let them in, though.”

It's almost eery how well Liam knows him, well enough to figure out that Zayn probably isn't the most open with his team. It takes Zayn a while to warm up, Liam knows, and sometimes Zayn tends to shut people out.

“I'm so happy for you,” Liam adds. “And it breaks my heart to learn that you're not as happy as I thought you were. Ignorance is bliss, yeah?”

Zayn lets out a measly chuckle.

“I want the best for you, Zayn,” he continues. “When you left, it was devastating. But I had to remind myself that it was the best for you. You needed to do that, and I needed to be supportive. And I'm still supporting you, right now. I always will, too. You're amazing, Zayn, and I don't want you to feel this way. I don't want you to feel overwhelmed like this, unable to sleep. You're about as brilliant as they come, in every aspect, really, and there's no reason for you to feel like you can't be a solo artist. You're doing a pretty bang up job so far.”

Zayn exhales, closing his eyes to keep away the tears that form behind his eyes. “Thank you, Liam. For just- everything, I guess.”

“I'm just glad I could help,” Liam sighs. “At least a little, anyway.”

"I wish you could stay,” Zayn whispers, lips brushing the sleeve of Liam's hoodie.

“I'm here now,” he reminds, kicking off his boots and sliding up towards the head of the bed.

Zayn follows suit, tugging off his boots and crawling towards the pillows stacked at the top. He lies next to Liam, not even giving a shit that he's still in his stage clothes and probably reeks. His face finds the crevice of Liam’s neck, and Liam’s strong, warm arms make their way around Zayn's waist again. He feels a thousand grams lighter, now, getting all of that off his chest.

Zayn closes his eyes, feeling relaxed for the first time in a long time. He knows tomorrow won't be like this, that Liam will be gone and this will all have seemed like a dream. But for now, he's just trying to enjoy it while it lasts.

“Do you miss me?” Zayn wonders, lips brushing Liam's collarbone as he speaks.

“Every day,” Liam murmurs into Zayn's hair. “We all do.”

“I miss you too,” he admits quietly.

"Then maybe call a few times, prick,” Liam mentions, and Zayn can feel his smile buried in his hair.

“You never called me, either,” Zayn defends, nipping at Liam's skin lightly in protest.

It makes him giggle, a childish sound that's like fucking Mozart to Zayn's ears, and Zayn smiles instinctively.

"A mutual agreement, then," Liam proposes. “To call more.”

“I second that,” Zayn agrees.

“It's settled,” Liam decides, snuggling closer to Zayn. “Now get some sleep. You look like you haven't slept in two weeks.”

“I haven't,” Zayn snorts.

He can feel Liam smile again, thumbs brushing down Zayn's spine. “Well then, sleep. I've got you.”

And Zayn knows Liam’s got him. Right from the start.

**Author's Note:**

> find [me](http://www.craziamlove.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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